


tell me we weren't just friends

by indiffrntnewt



Series: my newtmas oneshots [8]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Basically married, Cute, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minho knows, idk what to put here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24397015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiffrntnewt/pseuds/indiffrntnewt
Summary: Thomas watched him in shock. “You betted on if Newt and I would get together?”“When, not if,” Minho corrected him and Thomas would’ve glared at him if he hadn’t been so shocked by Minho’s confession. A bet, really? With Lizzy, of all people?“That’s why I need you to get your shit together, as much as I enjoy your mutual pining. I don’t wanna lose fifty bucks to her.”“Fifty bucks?!”[In which Thomas realizes he might be a little bit in love with his best friend]
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Series: my newtmas oneshots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1309421
Comments: 18
Kudos: 301





	tell me we weren't just friends

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd and written in one sitting, enjoy this mess x

He blamed Minho for putting the idea in his head, really. 

Him being in love with Newt. 

They’d been having a normal conversation, Minho kicking Thomas’ ass at Mario Kart as usual, when Minho had made a comment that drastically changed Thomas’ life (that’s what it felt like at the time, at least -- looking back on it, it was a long time coming). 

“It’s a shame Newt’s not here,” Thomas said, when Minho, once again, beat him in one of the races. Thomas had practically begged his friend to come, telling him he couldn’t stand losing to Minho _again,_ that he _needed_ Newt to help him on this one, but the blond just laughed and shook his head. 

“Sorry, Tommy, I promised Lizzy I’d come with her. You know how she is.”

Thomas had pouted at him, pleading with his eyes, and for a split second, it seemed like Newt wanted to give in, but then he playfully smacked Thomas’ shoulder and ruffled his hair. Thomas had yelped and ducked away, which just resulted in Newt laughing at him more and promising him he’d be there next time. 

Minho chuckled at his comment, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Don’t worry, Thomas, your boyfriend can survive without you for one night.”

“It’s not about surviving, it’s about Newt being better at - wait -”

Thomas blinked in confusion, looking at Minho, who was still staring at the screen, furiously pressing buttons on his controller. There was a loud crashing noise, which Thomas assumed came from Minho throwing another blue shell at him, but he’d completely lost his attention for the game. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he managed to splutter out and Minho whooped in victory when the familiar sounds indicated that Minho had won once again, before dropping his controller in his lap and looking back at Thomas. 

“Sure.”

“He’s not!” Thomas exclaimed, returning his attention to the screen and sure enough, Minho had finished in first place, while Thomas’ name was displayed at the very bottom of the screen -- twelfth place (damn it, he really had to ask Newt to teach him how to play this game). 

“Maybe not officially, but you're practically married,” Minho said. He picked up the controller again, but made no move to start up another round. 

“We’re not,” Thomas tried to defend himself, but it sounded weak even to his own ears. 

Minho rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Thomas, I knew you were stupid, but I never thought you’d be _this_ dense.”

Thomas glared at him. “I’m not dense. Me and Newt are just friends. Best friends.”

Minho snorted. “Best friends that pretty much have eye-sex every day.”

“Minho!”

Minho held up his hands in defence. “Just sayin’. If you were _just_ friends, you wouldn’t look at each other like that. With the heart eyes and all.” He scrunched up his face in disgust. “And you definitely wouldn’t _act_ like that.”

“What?” Thomas asked, exasperated. Sure, he and Newt were touchy around each other, but that didn’t have to mean anything, did it? Thomas had always been a touchy-feely person, especially when he was close to someone. Just because they hugged and cuddled didn’t mean he wanted to fuck Newt senseless. 

Minho huffed out a laugh. “I think it means that you want Newt to fuck _you_ senseless.”

Thomas felt a rush of anxiety go through him and he swallowed thickly. “Did I say that out loud?”

Minho nodded, grinning, and Thomas sighed in desperation.

“I don’t want to fuck Newt.”

“To be honest, I don’t think you’d top -”

“Okay!” Thomas cut him off before he could continue speaking. Minho just cheekily winked at him, a smug smile on his face. 

“Listen, dude,” he said. “I’m not saying all you want to do is fuck. But I am saying that you’re basically in love with him.”

Thomas rolled his eyes, picking up his controller. “Sure.”

“Just give it some thought.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Mhm.”

“I give up.”

—

  
  


Thomas had always considered himself straight. All the way through primary school, high school and halfway through college, he’d never been attracted to men. Not once. Of course, when Newt sat down with him in their sophomore year of high school, tears in his eyes, telling him he was gay, the thought of liking men had crossed his mind, but that was simple curiosity, not actual attraction towards men. He’d hugged Newt and told him he’d always be there for him and that had been it. Newt had talked to him about the men -- boys, at the time -- he liked while Thomas rambled on and on about Teresa from their English class, or Brenda from the track team, and even Harriet, Lizzy’s friend, at one point -- _God, those were a few embarrassing months._

But actually _liking_ men? Never. 

Maybe that was why this shocked him so much. 

He was watching Newt with intense curiosity as the blond happily chatted with Minho about a movie they’d both seen, sharing fun facts and details about the actors and production he’d found on the internet. Thomas didn’t engage in the conversation -- he hadn’t seen the movie, so he took this opportunity to stare at the blond boy. 

Newt _was_ kind of pretty, wasn’t he? As much as Thomas teased him about his insanely long legs (because they were pretty long, let’s be honest. Thomas figured they took up most of his body), his lanky build was charming, in a way. And with the dark brown eyes and soft, blond hair that fell into his face, Thomas definitely couldn’t say he wasn’t good-looking. His face was young and sharp, and Thomas couldn’t help but notice that his lips were incredibly pink and soft-looking and _damn it, Minho, why did you plant these thoughts in my head -_

“Tommy? You okay?”

Newt’s voice snapped him out of his daze. 

He straightened up, realizing both Minho and Newt had been staring at him and felt a blush creep up on his cheeks. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Thomas said, but it came out shakier than he intended it to be. Newt’s eyebrows furrowed together in a frown and Thomas kind of wanted to kiss it away. 

He shook his head to clear it of those thoughts. _You can’t, Thomas. Not with Newt._

“You sure?”

Thomas nodded at him, not trusting himself enough to speak up. His throat was strangely tight, as if something was choking him, and he swallowed several times, trying and failing to get rid of the odd feeling.

“Alright,” Newt mumbled, accent thicker than usual. He gave Thomas another worried one-over, before returning his attention to Minho, who was, for some strange reason, smirking at Thomas. 

Thomas glared at him.

—

“You figure it out yet?”

Thomas had tried to avoid both Minho and Newt as much as possible after their strange lunch together, but _of course,_ Minho caught up to him when he was walking home, because it was _Minho._

He sighed, slowing down his pace as the black-haired boy approached him, his hands in his pockets. 

“Figure what out?” He said, trying to stall, but Minho wasn’t buying it. 

“That you’re in love with Newt,” Minho said with a roll of his eyes. 

“No,” Thomas replied, picking up the pace now that the other boy was next to him. 

“Haven’t figured it out?”

“Am not in love with him.”

Minho snorted. “Sure, Thomas. _Tommy._ ”

Thomas _knew_ Minho was trying to get a reaction out of him, _knew_ he wanted Thomas to react to the nickname, but as much as Thomas tried to ignore him, he still winced.

Minho smirked. “What’s wrong, Tommy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Thomas hissed, feeling incredibly uncomfortable with the way it sounded from his friend. 

“Why not? Newt calls you that,” Minho pointed out with a smirk. Thomas groaned and closed his eyes. _Well, he was fucked either way._

“It sounds better coming from him.” 

Minho shrugged. “Because you’re in love with him.”

“Because he’s British,” Thomas said sharply, earning another smirk from Minho. “Everything sounds better in a British accent.”

“Sure,” Minho said, but he didn’t sound convinced. 

“Why are you suddenly so interested in this, anyway?” Thomas asked. “You tell me we’re in love one day and expect us to get married the next.”

Minho’s laugh grew silent at that and Thomas eyed him suspiciously.

“We, um…” Minho scratched the back of his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “Me and Lizzy betted on when you’d get together and I have like, a week left.”

Thomas came to a halt, stunned. “Excuse me?”

Minho, apparently having realized Thomas wasn’t next to him anymore, stopped and turned around, giving him an apologetic smile. 

Thomas watched him in shock. “You betted on if Newt and I would get together?”

“ _When_ , not if,” Minho corrected him and Thomas would’ve glared at him if he hadn’t been so shocked by Minho’s confession. A bet, really? With _Lizzy,_ of all people?

“That’s why I need you to get your shit together, as much as I enjoy your mutual pining. I don’t wanna lose fifty bucks to her.” 

“ _Fifty_ bucks?!”

Minho only half shrugged, flashing him another grin. 

“Jesus Christ,” Thomas said, running a hand through his hair. “I really hate you guys.”

—

_  
_ _“Tommy?”_

“Newt?”

_“Hey.”_

Thomas sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, causing spots to swarm his vision. He blinked to get them out. Glancing at his alarm clock, he saw that it was around three in the morning. 

“Why aren’t you asleep?” He asked, his voice still raspy due to him just waking up. He’d been having a very _nice_ but confusing dream about him and Newt when his phone rang, abruptly ending his dream and waking him. 

_“Why aren’t you?”_ Was Newt’s response. Thomas shrugged, even though Newt couldn’t see him.

“You called.” 

_“Shit, did I wake you up?”_

“You did,” Thomas said, choosing not to lie to him. “But it’s fine. What’s wrong?”

_“Wrong? What makes you think something’s wrong?”_

“Well,” Thomas sighed, moving around a bit so he was more comfortable, “it’s three in the morning and you’re calling me.”

_“That’s true.”_

“So what’s wrong?” Thomas asked. He had the unsettling feeling that something had happened to Newt, even though his friend sounded perfectly fine. 

_“I just wanted to talk to you.”_

Thomas smiled into his phone and laid back down. “Miss me, hm?"

A soft chuckle came from the other side. It was a pleasant sound. Nice and warm.

_“As if.”_

“You know you love me.”

_“Mhm.”_

They were quiet after that, simply enjoying each other’s presence. Even though nothing had happened between the two of them, Thomas couldn’t shake the nervous feeling in his chest. Minho’s words kept circling through his brain -- _If you were just friends, you wouldn’t look at each other like that._

They _were_ just friends, though, weren’t they? Even though Thomas had to admit he thought Newt was attractive, nothing romantic had ever happened between them. Sure, they hugged a lot and sure, they cuddled sometimes, and _sure,_ they went to prom together -- but that was all completely platonic, right? Falling asleep with your best friend wasn’t a weird thing and neither was waking up with your legs tangled and arms around each other. It didn’t have to mean anything. It just meant that Thomas was basically an octopus in bed and clung to Newt like his life depended on it. And the prom thing -- well, neither of them had a date, so they both decided it was best to go together. As friends. 

He rolled on his side and looked at the framed photo on his nightstand. He and Newt were standing in front of Thomas' house, both of them wearing suits, not quite matching but also not completely different. Thomas was wearing a dark blue suit with a white blouse and Newt had a gray suit with a dark blue blouse. Thomas was sure people thought they’d gone as a couple, but it had all been a coincidence -- right? 

Even though they bought their suits together. 

Thomas groaned and rolled back onto his back, incredibly frustrated. What the _fuck_ was he supposed to do? He’d never been this confused about crushes before -- it was usually pretty clear. He either liked someone or he didn’t. 

It was different with Newt, though. 

He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was between them. Thomas loved him, for sure, since they’d known each other for as long as he could remember. Platonically. As friends. But was it anything more than that? 

He thought back of that afternoon, that lunch, when he had realized how _pretty_ Newt was. Attractive. He had a kind of boyish glow over him, making him appear way younger than he was. His hair was soft and messy and kind of long, always falling into his face. Thomas often brushed it away without thinking about it. And his _eyes._ Thomas loved his eyes. They were a beautiful shade of brown -- darker than Thomas’ own eyes and way more intense. Unless light shone directly into them, it was hard to tell which part of his eye was the pupil and which was the iris, the black and dark brown blending perfectly into each other. He had really pretty eyelashes, too. Black, despite his blond hair. And long. And his _lips,_ his pink, soft lips -- Thomas suddenly wondered what it would feel like to capture those lips in a hungry kiss, to bite them, to hear them gasp his name -

_“Tommy? You okay?”_

He didn’t realize he was sweating until Newt’s voice erupted from the speaker, snapping him out of his daze. 

He grabbed his phone and sat up straight, his entire body tense with anxiety. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” 

_“You groaned. I hope you’re not wanking off while I’m on the phone.”_

Thomas huffed out a short laugh, feeling his entire body heat up with embarrassment. 

“And why would I do that?”

_“Because I’m incredibly attractive and the sound of my voice turns you on?”_ Newt said in a playful tone and Thomas exhaled a shaky breath before laughing. 

“You wish.”

—

“First of all, you were _not_ right, so don’t even start.”

Thomas held up his finger as a warning and Minho simply raised his eyebrows at him. 

“Second of all, I think I might have a _tiny_ crush on Newt.”

—

“Fuck off, you bloody idiot. Percy could _not_ have saved Fred.”

Thomas threw his hands up in a desperate gesture. “But he distracted Fred with the joke! If he’d just paid more attention -”

“There was an explosion!” Newt exclaimed, and even though they were talking about someone’s death, there was a happy glint in his eyes. “The wall would have crushed him no matter how much attention Percy did or didn’t give to him.”

“Well, Remus -”

“Stop it,” Newt said, a dorky smile on his face despite his stern tone. “We don’t know enough about his death to discuss it.” 

“Rowling could’ve kept him alive,” Thomas mumbled, looking down at his glass and realizing it was empty. 

“Well, Rowling’s a fucking twat,” Newt said, getting up from his lazy position on the couch. “I’m all for women’s rights -- she, however…”

He walked out of his room, still mumbling to himself, probably about how much he despised J.K. Rowling. When he returned, he tossed a bottle of water Thomas’ way while taking a swig of one himself.

“Aww,” Thomas said. “Don’t fancy a hangover?”

“Not really, no,” Newt said, sitting back down on his bed. It was a nice bed, bigger than Thomas’ one and incredibly soft. 

“We didn’t even drink that much,” Thomas commented. Newt shrugged at him. 

“Just in case.” 

He smiled at Thomas, who, feeling his heart clench at the sight, decided to listen to him and drink some water. It was cold and pleasant and Thomas figured Newt had probably prepared them for this, placing them in the fridge because he knew Thomas didn’t like warm water. He found himself smiling while looking at the bottle, not even caring that Newt was watching him with a frown on his face.

“You’ve been actin’ weird, Tommy.”

Thomas looked back up, feeling his face fall. _Had he been that obvious?_ He was never good at hiding things from Newt, but he didn’t think Newt would have noticed this in such a short amount of time. 

He swallowed thickly, gathering courage. “Have I?”

Newt hummed, nodding. His eyes were still trained on Thomas, travelling all over his face before resting on his eyes. Butterflies swarmed Thomas’ stomach and he blinked furiously.

“What’s going on?”

Thomas shrugged, breaking their eye contact by looking down. “Nothing.”

“You’re bad at hiding stuff and you’re even worse at lying,” Newt said, shuffling closer to him. “Spill.”

“It’s nothing,” Thomas said, looking back up at Newt. The blond was watching him with a genuinely concerned expression on his face and his heart ached for the boy. 

Newt raised one eyebrow at him and Thomas sighed. 

“I just had a little… realization, earlier this week, and it’s been throwing me off a bit,” he decided to say, avoiding the real answer. As much as he loved and trusted Newt, he was still too scared to admit his crush, especially when it was still so new to him. 

“Okay,” Newt said, dragging out the word, probably understanding that Thomas didn’t want to discuss details. Once again, Thomas felt his heart clench, and the burning desire to kiss Newt came back stronger than ever. 

“Is it a bad thing? The thing you realized?”

Thomas shrugged again, absentmindedly plucking at Newt’s blanket. “I guess. Could be very, _very_ good, but it really depends.”

“On what?”

“The circumstances,” Thomas said vaguely. 

Newt nodded, watching Thomas’ fingers pluck at the cotton material. “I get it. What are the odds it’s going to be a bad thing, though?”

Thomas looked up and met his eyes once more, almost choking at how intense Newt’s gaze was. He found himself staring into his eyes once again, almost pulled in by them, as if Newt was somehow daring him to come closer. He felt a shiver go down his spine, and his answer came in a low whisper. 

“Fifty percent. It’s either good or bad.”

Newt’s lips curled into a smile. “Smartass.”

“I like someone,” Thomas blurted out before he could really think about it. Judging from Newt’s expression, he hadn’t expected the sudden outburst, and he fought the urge to hide his face in his hands like a small child.

_God, Thomas, really? You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut for once?_

Newt cleared his throat, clearly composing himself before answering. He seemed guarded, somehow. Closed off.

“You do?”

Thomas felt his face warm up, but, deciding there was no going back, continued speaking. It wasn’t like he had to tell Newt it was _him._

“Yes. And I think I might’ve for a really long time, which is crazy, because I just didn’t know, but now I do and I have no idea what to do, and Minho told me to do something about it, and I want to, trust me, but I don’t know if he likes me back or if we’re just friends and I’m really scared of messing up our friendship -”

“He?” Newt’s voice cut him off, sharp. He was watching Thomas with a confused, but curious expression -- and there was something else there, something he didn’t quite recognize.

Thomas felt his heart drop. “Yes.”

To his surprise, Newt smiled at him. “That’s great, Tommy. Really. Congrats.”

And there it was. In his rush to congratulate Thomas, his face had twitched, dropping the mask of happiness he’d been wearing all night. He looked almost sad, to Thomas, maybe even _desperate_ ? He wasn’t sure what to label it, but it was sure _something,_ and suddenly, it hit Thomas. 

_The heart eyes._

He’d been sure Minho was joking when he said it, but now, Thomas realized he might have been right. Newt was looking at him in adoration, maybe even awe, even though Thomas just told him something that seemed to upset him. His face was warm, open, soft, and Thomas realized _this_ is what that expression meant -- one he’d seen a million times before. When they had their first class in high school and Thomas had tripped in the hallway. When Thomas introduced him to Minho, grinning widely. When Thomas threw him a surprise party for his eighteenth birthday, because his parents couldn’t make it. When Newt got his first real job and Thomas flung himself around his shoulders, near tears because _they were growing up so fast._ Hell, even when they were posing in front of Thomas’ house, ready for prom. 

Thousands of memories hit him at once and it must have shown on his face, because Newt’s face fell and he frowned at Thomas in concern. 

“Tommy -”

“I’m in love with you. I think I might’ve been for a very long time, now.”

The words had left his mouth before he could bring himself to think about it and Newt abruptly shut his mouth, eyes widening in shock. He looked so _goddamn_ adorable Thomas would’ve kissed him right there and then if he wasn’t frozen in place, starting to realize what he’d said. He felt his hands shake and his face warm up in embarrassment. Never before had he wanted the ground to swallow him whole _this_ badly. 

_Great, Thomas. You fucked up._

Newt didn’t move. His face was one of pure shock; eyes wide, mouth slightly opened and his eyebrows disappearing behind his bangs. He closed his mouth, swallowed and opened it again, but didn’t say anything. 

Thomas looked down. _What if Minho had been wrong? What if he was just seeing things? What if Newt just liked him as a friend and nothing more?_

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, refusing to look back up. “I shouldn’t -”

“When did you find out?”

Despite his shocked expression, Newt’s voice sounded quite steady, and maybe that’s why Thomas dared to look at him again. If Newt had been angry or hurt, he wouldn’t sound like this -- _right?_

“I… don’t know,” Thomas said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “I think I knew, maybe, deep down, but I never _really_ knew, y’know? I only just realized it...”

His voice trailed off, leaving the room way too quiet for Thomas’ liking. If Newt felt the same way, wouldn’t he have said something by now? Wouldn’t he have laughed the tension away or given him one of his comforting smiles? 

“I - me too, you know.”

Thomas’ eyes snapped back up to Newt’s, who was now avoiding his gaze. His face was insecure and red and mostly hidden behind his hair. He looked so cute it took Thomas a few seconds to respond.

“You -” Thomas whispered, not sure of what to say or think. _Newt too? Does that mean -_

“Yeah. For quite a long time.” Newt was looking at him now, a small smile on his face. “I never told you ‘cause I thought you were straight.”

“So did I,” Thomas breathed out, his voice shaky. “Until Minho told me we’re basically married and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

Newt nodded. His face was happier now, less insecure, but he still seemed hesitant, as if unsure what to say. Thomas reached out with his hand, softly touching Newt’s. The blond looked at his hand for a while before turning up his palm and intertwining their fingers. 

A rush of happiness went through Thomas’ body at the contact and he smiled. 

“Tommy.”

“Hm?”

“Are you sure?”

Thomas felt himself tense up, squeezing Newt’s hand involuntarily. 

“What?”

“Are you sure,” Newt repeated. “About this. About _me._ ”

Thomas wanted to say yes, he really did, but there was a small voice in the back of his mind saying _no, you’re not, you only just figured it out, you can’t possibly know yet,_ and he looked down. 

“I think so.”

Newt sighed and retreated his hand, leaving Thomas cold at the loss of contact. 

“That’s not enough.”

“Newt,” Thomas said desperately. He instinctively grabbed Newt’s wrist, holding him in place. “Newt, please -”

“Tommy,” Newt interrupted him. “This is a big deal. I need to know if you’re sure about this.”

“Are _you_?” Thomas asked. It came out a lot more accusingly than he intended and he cringed. 

Newt didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Thomas blinked and bit his lip, trying to find the right words to tell Newt. How was he supposed to explain himself? Thomas was never good with words and thoughts. He acted on impulse and thought that actions mattered more than words. _Newt_ was always the one to calm him down, hold him back, stop him from doing too much. The one to say the right words at the right time, to give the best advice and to comfort him. This wasn’t Thomas’ thing. He had no idea what to do. 

“This is very new to me,” he started, but it came out weak. “I don’t -”

He made a desperate gesture with his free hand, struggling to find the right thing to say. Newt was watching him expectantly, his face calm despite the current situation. Thomas envied him for it. 

“Tommy,” he said softly, his voice more vulnerable than ever before.. “I don’t want to start something just for you to figure out you didn’t like me after all. Either you’re all in, or all out.”

Something about the way he said it made Thomas’ heart ache and in a split second, he made a decision. A stupid one. A terrible one, but he made it either way, and because he was bad at coming up with good plans, he decided not to try and think of another one. 

“Tommy - hmpf!”

Newt almost yelped in surprise when Thomas moved forward on impulse, grabbing the side of his face and pressing their lips together, leaning over so much that Newt almost fell. He let go of Newt’s wrist and moved his hand to his waist instead, keeping him in place. 

Newt didn’t move for a second, his hands pressed against Thomas’ chest, but then he gave in, moving his hands to Thomas’ chin, hair, arms…

Thomas’ insides felt like they were on fire. He was shaking and desperately trying not to fall over, his mind completely blank. Newt’s lips moved against his own, chasing them, feeling how their mouths fitted together, and Thomas swore he could’ve fainted at the sensation if he wasn’t so tense. 

His hands trailed all over Newt’s body and Newt gasped, responding by only kissing him harder, tracing his collarbone with his fingers. This time, Thomas gasped, and Newt pulled away, resting their foreheads together. 

Thomas breathed out heavily, trying to catch his breath while Newt played with Thomas’ collar. 

“That’s it,” Thomas whispered. “That’s what it’s supposed to feel like.”

He could see Newt smile and pressed their lips together once more before pulling back and intertwining their fingers again. 

“So…” Newt said, his voice lower than usual. Thomas almost whined at the sound of it. 

“All in,” he said. “One hundred percent, all in.”

Newt’s grin was so wide it could’ve split open his face. 

—

“Newt?”

“Hm?”

Thomas looked up at him lazily, his chin and hand resting on Newt’s chest. They were cuddled up in the bed together, legs intertwined _on purpose_ this time, softly talking and kissing. 

“If we keep this a secret for a couple days, Minho will have lost his bet.”

  
“Minho _betted_ on us?!”


End file.
